Glass Bubbles
by Circlique
Summary: When America arrives at China's house sick, China decides they'll never get any work done and decides to bring the American out of his comfort zone by giving him a little lesson in Chinese medicine fire cupping instead. Oneshot.


Almost as soon as he answered the door, he could tell something was wrong.

Maybe it was the way the American seemed to be holding himself less upright than usual. Maybe it was that slow blink that greeted him instead of the usual bright eyes and vitality. It could have even been the way he knocked. Had so many years of receiving guests allowed the Chinese man to distinguish a tired knock from an eager one? But if he'd had any doubts that the American was not feeling well on this particular day, they were erased the moment he started to speak.

"Heyyy, China," he half sniffed, half slurred, blinking tiredly. "Sorry, I don' really feel well toda—"

"You look awful," China almost _scolded._ Well? It would have been perfectly reasonable for the American to call him and say he was sick today. China may have suspected him of simply being lazy and a no-show, but it wasn't like this was any better! He looked like he could barely hold himself upright. America was no use to him in this condition. He probably couldn't think straight! They would never get any work done.

But he was here, and China had plans for him.

Before the American could slur out another word, China snagged him by the wrist and tugged him inside. This was the perfect time to bring him out of his comfort zone a little. Maybe it would teach him a thing or two as well. "You'll be useless today, so I might as well try and make you feel better," he explained as he shut the door and led the American deeper into the house.

"Uh?" America sniffed deeply. "Are you gonna gimme like…some kin'a magic Chinese chick'n soup?"

"…No," China huffed, leading him down a long hall before finally stopping in a room near the back of the house. On the walls were a few wall scrolls, some pressed and framed plants, and diagrams of chakras and pressure points on the human body, labeled in Chinese. America seemed to notice the diagrams and a sudden horror dawned on him.

"Nonononono!" he cried frantically, suddenly showing renewed vitality as he tried to pull his hand away. "No way are you doin' some kin'a acupuncture on me!"

"I'm not!" China asserted, pulling him over to a table in the middle of the room and making him sit down on it. "Take off your shirt."

"Nooo!" America whined. "No way! I dunno what yer gonna do t'me! Yer prob'bly gonna sting me with a scorpion or put some kin'a toxic plant on my skin an' I'm not gonna let you do it!"

"Stop being a baby!" China said sternly, sitting the American back down as he tried to get up again. How stubborn he was! "Even little kids get treated this way! It's Chinese medicine! Thousands of years of practice. It'll make you feel better. And I'm not going to do any of those things to you anyway."

"Then _what?"_

"Fire cupping," China answered, hesitating for a moment to make sure America wasn't going to try and run again, and then—satisfied that he wasn't—going to retrieve what looked like a bunch of glass bubbles from a drawer across the room. He could feel the American eyeing him curiously as he also retrieved some wads of cotton, a bottle of alcohol, a couple of sticks, and a match.

"I'm not lettin' you burn me either," America whined again, though he seemed to be losing his will to fight him on this now.

China returned with the items on a little cart and stared disapprovingly at the American, who still had not removed his shirt. "I'm not. Now take that off."

Pouting, the younger nation finally did so, letting it fall to the floor next to the table.

Satisfied, China had him lie face-down on the table as he soaked a wad of cotton in the alcohol, then lit it and picked up the flaming wad between the two sticks, as if it were nothing more than a chicken dumpling at dinner. America glanced back at him nervously as he felt the increased heat near his bare back. "I thought you said you weren't gonna burn me?"

"I'm not!" China assured him, moving around so America could see what he was doing. "Look." Taking one of the glass bubbles, open at one end, he stuck the lit wad inside for barely a second before pulling it out again and sticking it to the American's skin.

He watched amusedly as the younger nation made a face, squirming a little at the sensation of the glass bubble sucking his skin up inside of it. "What's this supposed t'do?" America sniffed.

"Makes your blood flow better," China answered, heating the inside of another glass bubble before sticking it on America's back near the first one. "When your blood doesn't flow right, it stagnates and the illness pools up in your body. If you want to improve your qi and bloodflow, you have to get it moving somehow."

"Ah…" America nodded, perhaps feigning understanding. "I don' see why you can't just…gimme some Tylenol or somethin'."

"That is no fun," China replied with a smile, though he knew the American couldn't see from his current position. Another cup suctioned onto his back.

The American must have been able to tell by his voice that he was smiling. "Hey! This isn't fer yer en'ertainment! My health is at stake!"

"And I am trying to make you feel better!" Another cup sucked on to the skin. "So be still."

Finally, the American lay still, occasionally flinching or squirming at the sensation of his skin being sucked up into the little glass globes. China snorted amusedly once all the cups had been applied, watching the American squirm and raise an eyebrow at the clanking of glass on his back.

"What's it look like?" the younger nation asked, trying to crane his neck to see.

"It looks like your back is bubbling," China answered, reached out the jiggle on of the glass cups, clanking it against another accidentally.

"Oh…" America reached back with one hand to try and feel the little cups, but finding the angle a bit difficult, he let his arm go back to hanging limply at his side. "How long do they stay on?"

"Mm…I can probably start taking them off now." China reached out and pulled gently at the first glass globe he'd applied, and it popped off with a little sucking sound, leaving a circular red welt on the skin. One by one, he started to pop them off, and soon the American's back was covered with the circular marks. When he was done, he traced one of the marks gently.

"Did it leave marks?" America asked, twisting around to try and see—which he must have, because his next question was: "Will they go away? Are they gonna bruise or somethin'?"

"I didn't leave them on long enough to bruise," the Chinese man answered, guiding the American down onto the table again so he could gently massage his back and shoulders, working out the kinks and tension in the muscles. Gradually, the American relaxed, and China got the feeling he was practically melting under his touch. Once he peeked over and caught sight of a content smile on the other's face. "Do you feel better?"

"A little," the American sighed, lifting his head back to look back at China almost dreamily. "So…how 'bout some of that magic soup?"

"For you?" The Chinese man feigned intense thinking, like he might refuse, before finally smiling at him playfully. "I suppose I can do that."


End file.
